


In Love And War

by starzangel1



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Nuclear Warfare, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starzangel1/pseuds/starzangel1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WW3 has begun and the humans are capturing mutants to use as weapons. Charles and Erik’s team tries to keep mutants out of the humans’ grasp, but then Erik himself is taken. Mpreg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisacreature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisacreature/gifts).



> Artistic licence taken in regards to ultrasonography and 1963. Shh!

**Part I**  
  
Charles Xavier watched the gloomy London street through the grimy windowpane, the thick old glass distorting the shadowy figures shuffling along below the ominous grey sky. He tugged the collar of his coat closer to his neck, wishing he hadn’t lost his scarf during the scuffle in Volkhov. His breath fogged the glass as he breathed deeply and closed his eyes. Raising a hand to his temple, the telepath cast his mind out into the street.  
  
He winced. The taste of human fear was so sharp and hot, always bubbling as if it would froth up and pool over their lips. Death would come here insidiously, not like the rapid slaughter of those closer to the craters that had been Moscow and New York a mere fifteen weeks ago. The telepath trembled, nausea lapping at his throat, and he fought down a whimper. It was getting harder to do this; it was difficult to cope with it all.  
  
But he had to be here. He had to get Erik back. Charles forced his breathing to slow down and waited for the mind of the informant.  
  
He recognised the approaching mutant by his intent and opened his eyes. The sound of heavy metal striking wood echoed through the desolate building.  
  
Charles didn’t move in the darkness and answered with his mind.  
  
 _I shan’t open the door, but we can talk like this.  
  
What...? _ The knocking paused.  
  
Charles kept step with the instinctive retreat of the other’s mind and spoke with calm authority. _Don’t be afraid. I’m a telepath._ _Please pretend you’re still waiting for the door to be answered._  
  
The knocker hit a little tremulously before finding its confident beat again.  
  
 _Tell me what you know._ It was a directive, but Charles maintained a warm gentleness that encouraged the other’s mind to relax and respond willingly to him.  
  
 _There’s an abandoned airfield, nothing but grass for years now. Until two months ago, that is. Overnight a new hanger popped up out of nowhere._  
  
Charles felt his heart race, but kept his mind calm. _That’s_ Bellona _?  
  
So I’ve heard._  
  
Unbidden, his fists clenched and blanched his knuckles. _Where is this airfield?  
  
South of the river, on the outskirts of Dartford._  
  
Charles took a deep breath, but the knot in his stomach didn’t untie. _Thank you._  
  
The knocking stopped. _Good luck. You’ll need it._  
  
Charles stepped out of the other mutant’s mind, his hand dropping from his temple. He bit his lip and tried not to think, not to feel.  
  
Something creaked further back in the house.  
  
In one fluid motion Charles had his gun out of his pocket aimed towards the noise. Blood rushed in his head. His heart hammered in his chest.  
  
“It’s me, Professor,” Hank’s voice said, quickly. His hulking form stepped forward, hands raised.  
  
Charles sighed and his shoulders slumped, the gun disappearing back out of sight.  
  
Hank joined him at the window. He glanced out the murky pane and tugged his scarf from over his mouth.  
  
“Did you get the location?”  
  
Charles nodded. Heat emanated from Beast in waves, as it always did, and he wondered how he could incite a hug out of the large, furry man without it being awkward.  
  
He crossed his arms, instead. They had a supposed location of the infamous _Bellona_ , which was where their investigations best suggested Erik was being held. It still wasn’t clear whether it was an American or a Russian base, but it made little difference to mutants since World War III had broken out. Both sides were capturing, torturing and using them as weapons.  
  
“It’s an airfield about twenty miles from here. How quickly can we get the X-Men team together?”  
  
Hank pushed up the woollen sleeve of his coat and stared thoughtfully at the watch strapped to his blue-furred wrist. “Mystique and Azazel aren’t due to check in for another six hours. Havok and Banshee should be docking in Portugal around about now... It’ll take me a bit of time to trace Angel and Riptide... I’d say...we could be ready in twenty-six to twenty-eight hours.”  
  
“Ok. Well, let’s get into position close by.” Charles started moving through the empty house towards the backdoor. “We can scope the site at dawn.”  
  
“Hang on!” Hank followed and caught Charles’s arm. “I’ve found a clinic. It shuts in thirty minutes.”  
  
Charles was pulled up short. His hand fell to his abdomen, pressing through the shapeless coat and layers of jumpers to feel the firm swell. His face went still.  
  
Then he gritted his jaw and brusquely pulled his arm out of Hank’s hold. “Now isn’t the time. I’ve got to get closer to Erik.”  
  
“It has to be now,” Hank persisted. “We might not get another chance of an expert ultrasound for months. If at all. Don’t you want to make sure everything’s ok?”  
  
Charles sighed.  
  
“You’re twenty weeks along, the doctor should be able to tell what gender the foetus is,” Hank added, enticingly.  
  
However, Charles already had both hands pressed against his bump, the shape discernable when he flattened the layers of clothing. Their baby came before both of them. Plus, there was little he could realistically do for Erik until back-up arrived.  
  
He looked up at Hank. “Lead the way.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**  
  
The waiting area lights were off, but there was a glow behind the reception desk and a middle-aged woman came into view with a stack of files in her arms and an empty mug with its handle hooked through her fingers. Charles tapped on the glass door and gave her his most winning smile.  
  
The woman frowned, a neat little crease between carefully plucked brows, but set the things down on the desk and strode over. She turned a key in the lock and pulled the door slightly ajar.  
  
“We’re closed.” When they didn’t jump down her throat, she added in a more genuinely apologetic tone, “I’m sorry, you’ll need to call in the morning to book an appointment.”  
  
“No, no, we know,” Charles hurried to reassure her. “Uh...” He turned raising his fingers to his temple into a shy movement, bright blue eyes flirting with her. “Emily said to meet her here after her shift. We’re old friends, we were...at Oxford together.”  
  
“Oh, I see! Come in.” She opened the door wide.  
  
Charles grinned and stepped into the cosiness of the heated building. Hank followed, shoulders hunched and fedora tipped low. The receptionist’s forehead pinched again, but Charles brushed his temple and averted her attention, replacing her niggling unease with sympathy for the large man’s timid awkwardness.  
  
Heels clicked on lino and a woman dressed in a spotless white lab coat appeared. Charles latched his fingers to his temple and caught her mind, smoothly turning polite inquiry into warm recognition.  
  
“Charlie! Hank!” Emily beamed. “It’s so good to see you. Come on through.” She paused to turn to the receptionist. “Joan, you get off home. I’ll lock up.” Then Emily was trotting off down the corridor, heels clicking merrily, Hank’s arm caught in her hand and propelling him along.  
  
Charles hung back at the start of the corridor, watching Joan turn back to the desk to gather up the files and mug. He slipped back into her mind and efficiently wiped away every trace of himself and Hank. A false memory filled the gaps – Emily said she was going to stay late to do paperwork. Then he hurried to catch up with Hank and their new old friend, Dr Emily Kerr.  
  
Emily’s mind was astutely intelligent, but she was naturally trusting and optimistic. Her mind readily accepted a positive, warm thought. In fact, she almost snatched his suggestions and wrapped them around her. The telepath sensed the dark shadow that war had settled in the depths of her mind, which she was desperately trying to keep buried under bright, happy thoughts. She wanted to believe that Charlie and Hank were university pals on a visit to London and they had arranged to drop in and see her at work because of Charlie’s pregnancy.  
  
Charlie was a thirty year-old woman, same age as herself, with her dark-brown hair cut into a bob and her five-foot-seven frame wrapped up in baggy layers to keep out the cold. Hank was a mutual friend and very much not-blue and not-furry, and she had better not mention the baby’s father, Erik, as he was in the RAF and overseas, which wasn’t a good place to be during World War III. If there was a good place... The baby! This was a happy time. She could use her skills to help her friend. They were all happy.  
  
Charles set about unbuttoning his coat, while the doctor switched on the ultrasound machine. Its screen flickered through its loading pages and Charles noticed Hank sat uncomfortably on the edge of a chair. The telepath brushed over his mind and quickly sent a rectifying message.  
  
 _It’s ok, the illusion is fully in place. You don’t have to bake._  
  
Hank met Charles’s eyes, hopeful but cautious. _You’re sure?_  
  
 _Yes. She doesn’t see you as, er, blue and furry._  
  
Beast relaxed and gratefully shed his coat, hat, scarf and gloves. He piled them tidily, then sat back in his seat and fixed Charles in a fascinated scientist stare.  
  
Charles was forced to intermittently lower his hand from his temple during the process of wiggling out of his jumpers, which meant it took extra effort to keep his telepathic focus on Emily. He was relieved her mind wasn’t making things difficult.  
  
She gestured to the examination bed and he obligingly hopped up onto the crisp sheet, then lay back on it and tried to get his head comfortable on the pillow. He took deep, shaky breaths. His fingers were pressed against his temple, telepathy locked onto the doctor, but he struggled to get his own emotions under control inside himself. His round tummy was now clearly visible under his stretched shirt and he felt the same nervous, excited rush of all the other people who had lain out on the bed earlier that day. He wished Erik was with him.  
  
Charles made the mistake of glancing over at Hank ogling at him like an experiment rather than a friend. He swallowed thickly.  
  
Then Emily patted his hand and her smile was kind. “When’s your due date, Charlie?”  
  
“Fifteenth of June.” It came out a little hoarse. Charles cleared his throat.  
  
Emily undid his shirt’s lower buttons, pushing it aside to expose the swell of his belly. She placed gentle, professional palms against his skin and pressed in, palpating his uterus and the foetus within. Charles followed her thoughts every step of the way, wanting to know at the very instant if any possible concern crossed her mind.  
  
Her warm smile and satisfied medical thoughts were constant. “You’re a good size for twenty weeks. Let’s have a look with the scanner.”  
  
The doctor sat on a wheeled stool and rolled into position beside the bed, her fingers reaching for the ultrasound machine’s keyboard. Charles froze her with a bit of a jolt, messy for his level of telepathic control. He made himself take another deep breath. Then, easy as pie, he made her forget to put in the patient details and, instead, reach for the bottle of ultrasound gel.  
  
She unscrewed the nozzle and squeezed the cold gel out onto his bare abdomen, smearing it across the curve of skin. Then she picked up the ultrasound probe and coated its end with gel, before positioning it on his belly.  
  
Emily expertly achieved the views she needed, freezing the screen and measuring distances. Charles watched the screen through her eyes, the doctor’s thoughts bringing the grey-black image into sharper clarity. He could see his baby’s perfect body. Hands with fingers, feet with toes, spine and skull, little nose and lips. All present, correct and beautiful. So beautiful.  
  
The doctor flicked on the Doppler and they heard the regular _wosh-wosh_ sound that mirrored the foetal heartbeat.  
  
Charles was distantly aware of Emily explaining, but he already knew from her thoughts, and his own mind was swimming.  
  
“Do you want to know the gender?”  
  
Charles blinked, eyelashes wet. “Yes. Please.”  
  
Emily smiled even brighter. This was her favourite part – finding out who the new life would be. She rolled the probe across his tummy and tilted it to alter the angle of the view.  
  
“You’re going to have...a girl.” She looked up and met his eyes. “Congratulations, Charlie. Everything looks fine, you’re right on track.”  
  
Charles just stared at the screen. At his daughter.  
  
Emily put down the probe and pressed some buttons on the machine, different images of his daughter flickering across the screen, then reached up to tear off a print-out that whirred out. She handed Charles the rectangle of glossy paper.  
  
He held the image of his daughter with trembling fingers, while the doctor cleaned the gel off his belly.  
  
“You said your GP ran bloods and urine earlier this week?”  
  
“Yes,” Hank answered for him. “And checked his blood pressure. He just needs the scan and amniocentesis.”  
  
“Amniocentesis?” the doctor queried. “Has that been recommended? Why?” She looked between them both. “Are you worried about a chromosomal abnormality of some kind? Thirty isn’t high risk for Down’s.”  
  
Charles pulled his eyes away from the ultrasound print-out and telepathically squashed the doctor’s concern and confusion. He tightened up his control over her thoughts. She needed to be okay with doing the procedure, but doing it without knowing why would go against her training and he couldn’t risk closing down aspects of her mind that held medical knowledge.  
  
“I’m not thirty, I’m forty,” he told her steadily, and his mind made her belief it, realise she’d always known it, forget she’d made the mistake.  
  
“Forty is relatively risky for Down’s Syndrome, but everything looks fine. We’ll test an amniocentesis sample to be more sure,” the doctor told him.  
  
“I know what that is. Go ahead.” Charles clutched the image of his daughter in his hand and looked anywhere but at his tummy as the doctor prepped it.  
  
He looked over at Hank, who had the decency to look faintly anxious.  
  
 _Do we have to do this?_  
  
Hank sighed. _You know we do. This is an unprecedented pregnancy, brought about by your recent secondary genetic mutation. Chromosomal abnormalities are, of course, a concern and definitely of interest._ His lips quirked. _Come on, it’s better than me sticking a needle into your uterus._  
  
 _Thank you, Hank. That’s very comforting._  
  
 _Sorry..._  
  
“Alright then, Charlie, try to breathe slowly. It’s going to be fine.”  
  
Charles inexplicably wanted to yell at her that his name wasn’t Charlie, but he swallowed instead.  
  
It was over in moments and then there was a tube of amniotic fluid in the doctor’s hand and the ceiling spinning in front of Charles’s eyes.  
  
“Hank, take the damn sample,” Charles said, thickly. He telepathically nudged Emily.  
  
Beast spirited the tube away into his coat and quickly got his winter layers back on. Charles, meanwhile, sat up slowly and ensured Emily shut down the ultrasound machine without saving any of his images. He buttoned up his shirt and pulled back on his oversized jumpers, hiding his round belly once more.  
  
Then Charles slid off the bed, tugging on his coat and shooing Hank out of the room.  
  
“Thank you, Emily.” He took a full hold of her mind, as he backed through the door. “You’ve been such a dear.”  
  
Then he plucked the memory of him and Hank from her head, closed the door, and gave her the thought of how much paperwork she needed to get done. Charles and Hank hurried along the corridor towards the back exit.  
  
Charles stepped out the clinic’s backdoor into darkness. The crisp air made his chest ache, breath rising from his parted lips in rapid plumes. He staggered against the building, palms grazing over pebbledash, his knees weak.  
  
Large gloved hands steadied him, manoeuvring him with ease so his back rested against the wall. One hand stayed hooked under his arm and the palm of the other rested flat against his chest. Charles tilted his head back, the rough rendering dug into his scalp, and his gaze settled on his friend’s face, or rather the shadows between the fedora and scarf.  
  
He tasted blood. His upper lip felt wet.  
  
Charles raised his fingers and wiped at the hot stickiness, then tried to see it in the dark. A gloved hand grasped his chin and tilted his head towards the wan light coming from the backdoor. Hank swore. That confirmed it then. A nosebleed.  
  
“I fear the amount of telepathy required sorely taxed me,” Charles muttered. “More than was expected.”  
  
“Hmm.” It was a bitter-sounding agreement and Charles felt Hank’s guilt.  
  
Charles opening his mouth, but before he could think of anything reassuring to say, Hank was all business.  
  
“You need to rest, Professor,” he announced, “after the amniocentesis, let alone the telepathy. I need to get you to safety and a bed. For both your sakes.” Hank pressed a paw against Charles’s abdomen. “She needs her mummy to rest.”  
  
“Anya,” Charles murmured, shifting his weight from the wall onto Hank’s proffered shoulder.  
  
“You what?”  
  
“Her name’s Anya.” Charles smiled lopsidedly into the dark. “Erik and I, we decided...if a girl...Anya.”  
  
“Nice choice.” Hank nodded, wrapping his arm around Charles. “Very pretty.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Part III**  
  
Charles approached the hotel desk in a manner he hoped at least vaguely resembled suave. A little telepathic suggestion was needed to encourage the clerk to give him a room under the fake identity of Max Smith who didn’t need to provide a credit card.  
  
Then he ambled his way over to the lifts, determined to stay upright and not letting his smile slip. The attendant welcomed him into the gold-coloured box and it trundled up to the fourth floor. Charles stood at the back, behind the other man’s field of vision, but forced himself not to slump against the walls. At last they arrived with a too-loud ping and Charles stepped out, somehow remembering to thank the attendant.  
  
Room 415 was blissfully close to the lift. Sweaty palm flat against the fleur-de-lis wallpaper next to the door, his other hand managed to get the key into the lock after some inefficient fumbling. He closed the door behind him, sealing off the rest of the world and stood for a moment in the calm, quiet, aloneness.  
  
Then Charles telepathically sent the room number to Hank and drew the curtains. For the second time that day, he tugged off his coat and peeled away his jumpers. He sat on the bed, the soft mattress giving welcomingly under his weight. His pregnant belly stuck out in front of him and he rubbed his hand over it. The ultrasound image had gotten creased in his coat pocket and he smoothed it out as best he could.  
  
Charles sighed and flopped backwards on the bed, curled his knees up and rolled onto his side. He slid a hand under his shirt and cupped his tummy. As he relaxed, he felt the fluttering of the baby moving inside him. The sensation was getting stronger each day and a quiet smile danced on his lips. Perhaps it wouldn’t be long before he would feel her kick under his hand.  
  
He murmured a hello-like noise at Hank, as the other mutant entered and sank down onto the other bed.  
  
Gradually, Charles’s eyes drifted closed, Anya’s picture falling from his slackening fingers to the blanket. He wished he could show Erik their daughter.  
  


* * *

  
Erik Lehnsherr wished to see daylight again, to sense metal again, to have freedom again. Most of all, he wished to see Charles again. To hold him in his arms and stroke his hands over his growing belly, press kisses into his neck and tell him how much he _liebte_ him.  
  
His cell was empty of Charles and didn’t offer any hope of getting out to find him. The S.C. collar dug into his neck, dutifully suppressing and controlling him. It stopped him from being able to grab hold of the lock and even took away the _Schnurren_ of the metal railings. Metal was to him as it was to Humans now. But he remembered how it had bent to his will. How it would bend to his will again.  
  
He was Magneto and he was going to be a husband _und Vater_. What he was not going to do was rot in a government cell.  
  
Of course, it would be easier to follow through with that plan if his head wasn’t thumping and dribbling blood onto the concrete floor. He tried to laugh, but his lungs didn’t yet have the breath for it.  
  
Erik didn’t know how long he’d been imprisoned. It was hard to keep track of days without a window or regular meals, and passing out and concussions made it difficult to keep track of the guards’ shift changes. His visible ribs suggested he’d been existing on what they had the audacity to call ‘food’ for a while and Spencer’s black-eye had faded since he’d landed a right hook on him that first day. _Drei Wochen? Einen Monat?_ _Zwei Monate_?  
  
How big would Charles have gotten by now? His beautiful four-month tummy had been a clear curve, so perfect and full. _Schön._ His pregnancy showing so obviously whenever he didn’t have to hide it. How much had their baby grown since then?  
  
Erik’s breath hitched, blood-tinged spittle frothing at the corner of his mouth. What if something had happened? Or if the stress was too much? _Ach Gott!_ Was their baby ok? Was Charles ok?  
  
Erik closed his bruised eyelids. He couldn’t let himself think like that. It was the only way he could be broken – by his own thoughts. He’d survived Shaw’s torture as a child, escaped and then, finally, killed the man on that fateful beach in October. Yet, these Americans thought they could crush him, get the X-Men and Resistance secrets out of him, then perhaps even turn him to their cause. How _blöd_ they were. He’d had the world’s most powerful telepath messing about in his head and been given access to that perfect point between rage and serenity. It enhanced his power over metal and it enhanced his power over his tormentors. Whatever they did to his body, he found his way there to that place inside his own mind, to the memories of Charles and enwrapped himself in their love, _zwischen Wut und Gelassenheit_.  
  
 _Ach_ , but how he missed Charles. He wanted to know Charles was safely as far, far away from this ghastly place as possible. But a shameful part of him hoped Charles had followed the trail from Romania to wherever the heck they were holding him. To this... _Rand der Welt. Schneide der Welt_. He’d welcome a rescue party bursting through the door right about now.  
  
Erik scraped himself up onto his knees, wrapping a grimy palm tight against the fire that flared in his bleeding head. The shackles, tauntingly metallic, around his ankles and wrists clinked with uncomfortable volume as he dragged himself over to the blanket and collapsed down. He pulled it around his beaten body, feeling the endless chill of the stone through it, but it helped a little. His skin would hold a myriad of interesting new scars, if- _wenn_ this ordeal was over.  
  
It made him think of Charles’s scar.  
  
The little pink-white mark on his lover’s side that made him feel so guilty. The wound he had caused. His damage that could easily have been so much worse, it terrified Erik with the possibilities. If he hadn’t been so goddamn _stur_ , then Moira would never have fired that bullet and Erik would never have deflected it and it would never have torn through the flesh above Charles’s right hip.  
  
They had been so lucky that it hadn’t gone all the way through the muscle, so the CIA doctor had placed some stitches and Charles was as good as new two weeks later. Well, morning sickness had struck by then...but that had been a good thing, a relief to know Charles was still pregnant after they’d left high-tech medical equipment so far behind.  
  
That was his fault too.  
  
When Charles had fallen, blood soaking into the sand, Erik had forgotten about the bombs. He’d just let them go, some exploding harmlessly in the air, but one had turned a ship into flame and ruin.  
  
Then World War III had begun.  
  
Erik stared unseeingly at the mould growing up the side of his cell. He could remember Charles crying out and collapsing to his knees in the middle of the CIA medical centre. Erik’s heart had leapt into his throat and he’d found his hands clutching all over Charles, wanting to stop his pain, wishing he knew the cause.  
  
Charles had rested his feverish head against Erik’s chest and whimpered, “Death...”  
  
Erik had looked deep into blue eyes, wet and bright. He didn’t understand and he needed to.  
  
Charles had taken a breath and held it, carefully sent a fragment of what he was seeing-hearing-feeling into Erik’s mind.  
  
It was the telepathic backwash of terror from millions watching two mushroom clouds darken skylines.  
  
Moira had rushed in, face grey, and had explained that both the Americans and the Russians had fired on each other with mirrored nuclear bombs. Moscow and New York were now craters.  
  
They had been stunned, numbed. So they just carried on for a bit. Charles’s gunshot wound was treated and then an intern had hit the wrong button on the blood-testing machine. That turned things upside down again.  
  
The accidental inclusion of female hormones in Charles’s blood profile had led to a rapid succession of CT scan, ultrasound scan, rectal examination, more blood samples and a urine sample. Then a lot of standing around and Oh My God-ing.  
  
Meanwhile, the nuclear explosions had stopped. What Shaw had anticipated hadn’t happened. Both sides knew full-scale nuclear war would rapidly lead to the demise of all life. But two capitals were gone and radioactive dust was choking the air. The word ‘mutant’ was racing across the world for more than one reason. There was unrest, plotting and distrust abounding amongst the Humans. He had sensed the government agents turning to face them and regard them as vipers in a nest – vipers that would strike them, if they didn’t pull out their fangs. It became rapidly obvious that the mutants needed to flee.  
  
Within hours, they were heading to temporary safety in Peru, the mind-wiped CIA base left behind.  
Erik closed his eyes and pictured the townhouse in Peru with the light-blue awnings and Charles stood on the balcony, face tipped towards the sun...  
  
The door screeched open and Erik recognised the replacement guard’s footfalls. He frowned at the noise and lazily raised his eyelids a crack. Perhaps Arthur had brought him some of that porridge stuff. _Aber nein_. The guard just held his battered copy of _War and Peace_ , the bookmark still jutting out a quarter of the way in. Arthur clapped Roy on the back and the two guards started to discuss this and that.  
  
Erik sighed and started to drift off into his thoughts again. Suddenly a word lit up like a flare.  
  
“...telepath...”  
  
He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and his bloodshot eyes bored into Arthur daring him to say it again.  
  
Across the room at the guard’s desk, Arthur lit the cigarette Roy offered him and perched nonchalantly between the telephone and the empty filing tray.  
  
Roy leant back in his chair, running a hand through his dark hair. “Not another one. The idea of these telepaths gives me the heebie-jeebies. Don’t want no mutant in my brain.” He gave a theatrical shiver.  
  
“Oh, don’t worry, it’s kept completely under control. They’ve got it in one of those incapacitating hat thingies that they used that honey of a telepath to create.”  
  
“You mean the Frost girl?”  
  
“Yeah, her. Though, apparently this one’s even stronger than her. The most powerful telepath in the world, so they’re saying.”  
  
The ground reeled. Erik felt sick. Somehow he lurched to his feet and flung himself at the cell bars.  
  
Arthur jumped to his feet and Roy fell off his chair. They both slowly reached for their guns, sweat beading on their foreheads.  
  
“What telepath?” Erik yelled with a burst of spittle. “Tell me the name!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Part IV**  
  
“This is definitely the place,” Charles said, lowering his fingers from his temple. “They have a blocking grid up.”  
  
“Can you get through it?” Hank asked, raising binoculars to his eyes.  
  
“Of course.” Charles fidgeted, finding it difficult to crouch comfortably with a five-month pregnant belly. “Give me a minute.”  
  
“Don’t overwork yourself,” Raven whispered from the other side of him. “Erik wouldn’t want that. We could-”  
  
Charles held up a hand. “It’s fine. Really.” He gave up attempting to crouch and sat down. “Just everyone be silent, please.”  
  
Charles shut his eyes and applied two fingers to his temple. He let his telepathy loose, encouraging it to swamp the blocking grid and find a way through, just a tiny crack or flicker at a connection, enough to get a single thought beyond it. This grid was better than the ones in Colorado and Greenland, possibly even better than the St. Petersburg one. Had Emma Frost improved the American’s telepathy technology beyond that of the Russians? This was certainly American rather than Russian in design and there were glassy, pearl-like aspects to it. Did that mean Emma was still alive?  
  
They should’ve gotten her out. But they’d been too desperate to get away, what with his newly discovered pregnancy and all. They had taken off and abandoned her. By the time it had been discovered that mutants were immune to the radiation and the warring nations had decided to fashion them into weapons, Emma was too heavily guarded to be rescued and, he suspected, all too keen to cooperate if it meant she’d be on the winning side.  
  
But Charles knew his telepathy was far stronger than Emma’s not inconsiderable talent. Even if she incorporated her secondary mutation diamond form, he knew how to break that down – thanks to Erik. What witnessed in reality could be turned into deadly thought.  
  
He couldn’t find a crack, so he set about shattering some of the glass-like pearls. Then he took a stomach-deep breath and pushed through the thin layer that remained.  
  
Minds, so many minds, frightened, laughing, proud, asleep, screaming, crying, fading, calculating...he shifted through them, hunting...he’d know the feel of Erik’s mind by the lightest brush, where was he? Charles poured his power through the grid, elbowing other minds out of the way as he searched, trying to be systematic about it despite his racing heart. Then –  
  
 _Erik_.  
  
 _Charles...?_  
  
He felt the grid rotate, glass-like pearls flashing back into form, and his mind was pushed out.  
  
Charles gnashed his teeth, but lowered his fingers. He’d gotten what he needed. “Erik’s in there.”  
  
“Is your nose bleeding again?”  
  
Charles sighed. “No, Hank, my nose isn’t bleeding.”  
  
“‘Again’?” Raven squeaked.  
  
“Maybe you should stay here, Professor...”  
  
“Charles, what did he mean ‘again’?”  
  
Alex shuffled closer. “We can handle it from here, if you’re feeling sick, Professor.”  
  
Sean opened his mouth.  
  
Charles raised both hands, his expression bordering on incredulous. “Look, I appreciate your concern, really I do. But I’m not about to forget that I’m pregnant. So will everyone just...zip it!”  
  
Sean closed his mouth.  
  
“Are we moving in?” Azazel was deadpan.  
  
“Yes, we are.” Charles brushed off his knees. “The hanger itself is mostly offices, but there’s an expansive complex underground. Erik’s being held on the fifth sub-level.”  
  
“Alright then.” Sean raised a fist. “X-Men...assemble!”  
  
Everyone just stared at him.  
  
“Sorry, dude, don’t think it’ll catch on.” Alex tousled Sean’s curly hair. “Doesn’t have the right ring to it.”

* * *

  
Erik glared at Mr Spencer, eyes hard and defiant. His ears were ringing from his own raw-throated screams. But Charles’s name hadn’t slipped from his cracked lips.  
  
Spencer gave a sigh of weary impatience, looking almost bored with Erik. “What is the telepath’s name?”  
  
The mutant’s face split into a smile, teeth dark with blood. He said nothing.  
  
Spencer gathered up enough enthusiasm to growl and motioned to the guards. They dragged Erik by his blood-caked manacles from the chair and yanked his arms above his head to suspend him from the chain fixed to the ceiling.  
  
Erik felt his brain go muzzy from the pain and Spencer’s demands became a background undulating hum.  
  
He had recognised his mistake almost immediately, but it’d been too late. The impassioned words had been out of his mouth, betraying him. Arthur and Roy’s expressions had changed from fear to greedy realisation. They hadn’t told him their telepath’s name, but they were very interested to know _his_ telepath’s name. An immediate call was made to their superior. Things had moved quickly, the Americans feverishly excited, and Mr Spencer had welcomed Erik prematurely back into his playpen.  
  
However, Erik wasn’t any more willing to talk this time than on any other occasion. Their exhilarating taste of interrogational headway had a bitter aftertaste. They had already known he was in league with other mutants and all he’d done was imply that one was a telepath.  
  
Spencer droned on. “We have it in our custody. I just need you to tell me its name. Tell me the telepath’s name.” His hands got particularly vicious again. “There’s nothing you can do for the telepath. Tell me its name.”  
  
Erik glared and spat blood to the floor.  
  
 _Erik._  
  
His eyes widened. Charles was in his head.  
  
 _Charles...?_  
  
Charles was suddenly gone.  
  
A flood of emotion surged inside Erik. What did Charles’s presence mean? How close by was he? Had Charles sounded afraid or hurt? Erik didn’t know; the contact had been too brief.  
  
Erik clamped his jaw shut, but his mind screamed with his lover’s name.

* * *

  
It was an orchestrated movement of teleporting, shape-shifting, telepathy, blasting and good old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat. They got to the fifth sub-level in good time.  
  
Charles slumped against a wall, panting a little and a hand pressed against his tummy. The others flanked him closely. He raised his fingers to his temple and scanned for Erik.  
  
“This way!” Charles pushed off from the wall.  
  
The telepath led them through the labyrinthine steel corridors of numbered doors. He kept his fingertips hard in place with his mind locked onto Erik’s.  
  
It was difficult to talk to Erik, for his beloved was barely conscious, his mind awhirl with agony and exhaustion. But Charles infiltrated his thoughts, filling his mind with a warm glow of love and comfort. On a subconscious level, Erik knew Charles was coming; knew rescue was close.  
  
Charles pointed to the door, but hung back. His knees wavered, Erik’s mind so vibrant and confused. He felt the steel wall against his back and his throat closing up. Hank grabbed his shoulder with a concerned paw.  
  
“I-in there... They’re t-torturing him...” Charles swallowed, fighting to keep his eyes focused. “One agent and...two guards...I-I think...”  
  
“Ok, we’ve got this,” Raven said, signalling orders to the others.  
  
Charles took a stuttering breath.  
  
“Professor, get out of his head,” Hank ordered.  
  
“Can’t...c-can’t leave him...” Charles started to slide down the wall until Hank steadied him.  
  
“You’ll be no use to any of us if you pass out.”  
  
Hank’s good-sense and Anya’s foetal fluttering managed to get through to him. With a breathless gasp, Charles disentangled himself from Erik’s mind and slid out. He didn’t let him go entirely, his telepathy brushing lightly against Erik’s thoughts, like a gentle hand resting against his lover’s back. But Charles was able to function properly again, his legs rediscovering the ability to hold his weight.  
  
The sounds of conflict were quick to diminish and then Hank was leaving Charles’s side to help Riptide support Erik. The metal-bender hung limply between them, his body battered and thin, wet with blood and a S.C. collar around his neck.  
  
Charles thought he might throw up. Instead, he moved shakily forward and touched clammy, bruised skin. His fingers were hesitant and soft, but Erik stirred. He rolled his head back against Hank’s furry and substantial shoulder. Crusted, purple eyelids slid up and bloodshot eyes filled with recognition.  
  
“Ch...arle...sss...”  
  
Charles bit his lower lip, sniffing back tears. “Yes, I’m right here, Erik. Everything’s going to be alright now.”  
  
“ _Ich...liebe d-dich_...”  
  
“And I you, darling.”

* * *

  
The _Blackbird 2.0_ made a speedy getaway, carrying the X-Men from English soil into the dust-thick clouds. No one could follow them there.  
  
In the back of the jet, Erik swallowed painkillers and drained a bottle of water. Charles could feel Erik’s eyes never leaving him, watching as he sorted through the first aid box and arranged the supplies between them on the bench.  
  
“This is going to sting a bit.” He held a ball of alcohol-soaked cotton wool poised above the montage of wounds across Erik’s torso.  
  
“I’ll bet.” Erik observed the approaching cotton wool with unease.  
  
Then he yowled, wheezed and grabbed Charles’s wrist. “How about I start with a shower when we land, hmm?”  
  
Charles nodded and dropped the offending cotton wool back onto the bench. He fiddled with the other items, ineffectively tidying up.  
  
“Charles?” Erik ran his fingers tenderly through Charles’s hair.  
  
The telepath looked up and dipped half a step deeper into Erik’s mind, desperate to get closer to him.  
  
Scabbed lips curved into a gentle smile. “Come here.”  
  
Erik reached out and pulled Charles towards him, one hand briefly brushing the medical supplies further along the bench, then he settled Charles close beside him. Charles rested his head against Erik’s chest and enjoyed the feel of Erik’s arm wrapped around his back. He watched as Erik pushed up his jumpers, revealing how his rounded belly thoroughly filled his shirt. Erik sighed happily, and then pushed up the shirt as well.  
  
He rubbed an appreciative hand across Charles’s tummy. “Mmm, you’re getting big.” Erik brushed a kiss against his forehead. “You’re so beautiful. How long was I...?”  
  
“Four weeks.” Charles slid a hand atop Erik’s. “She’s twenty weeks now.”  
  
Erik’s chin moved against Charles’s hair. “‘She’?”  
  
“We’re going to have a daughter.” Charles smiled and tugged the ultrasound picture out of his pocket. “I had a scan in London. Hank has the amniotic fluid sample he’s been wanting and he’ll run his tests when we get to Italy. The doctor said everything looks fine.”  
  
Erik tipped Charles’s chin up and captured his lips in a tender kiss. Charles reciprocated, until he heard Erik hiss and tasted the blood from his reopened split lip. Their mouths broke apart, but lingered close.  
  
“Italy should be thankfully warmer than London,” Erik muttered.  
  
“With blue skies,” Charles sighed, “the fallout hasn’t reached the South.”  
  
Erik brushed his lips against Charles’s mouth. “Then no more globe-trotting for you for a good long while.”  
  
“If I stop, you stop.”  
  
“Agreed.” Erik slowly rubbed his hand over Charles’s belly. “I won’t leave you. I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”


End file.
